


The Ties that Bind: One Year Later

by Metrickulous



Series: The Ties That Bind [2]
Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Bondage, Demisexuality, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Rope Bondage, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-14 06:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13584429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metrickulous/pseuds/Metrickulous
Summary: A bonus chapter that takes place after Chapter 7 and has flashbacks, because I can't stop jumping back and forth through time. I’ve also been adding some details to a few chapters in The Ties That Bind, if you’re so inclined to reread them.





	The Ties that Bind: One Year Later

**Author's Note:**

> \--Signing  
> "Speaking"
> 
> Present day and a flashback are separated by <><><>

Wrench signed as Numbers entered their apartment in Fargo.  
\--Did you do what I asked?  
Normally Numbers would gesture to the groceries his partner asked him to go out for. But this time he just nodded. He walked slower than normally, not at his regular nonchalant pace, to put the bag on the table. Then he looked back to Wrench, who had watched every movement Numbers made like a hawk.  
\--Take off your coat.  
Numbers slid off his coat. Instead of hanging it up on the rack, he let is slip from his hands.  
\--And the shirt.  
Numbers unbuttoned the shirt. He could feel them against his skin as he moved down each button.  
\--Keep going.  
Numbers removed all his clothes and let them lay where they fell. He was completely naked in their living room; except for the red ropes. The ropes stood out prominently against his hairy chest and torso. They were secure, but not overly tight; Wrench had made sure of that.  
When Numbers awoke that morning, he hadn’t expected any of this. He’d toweled off from his shower when Wrench approached him with a long strand of rope in hand and signed --Stand still.  
_If this is what my weekend is looking like, then I can forgive this past week for being so shitty,_ thought Numbers.  
The rope was silken as it snaked across the back of his neck, around his torso, and underneath his legs. He was impressed by what Wrench had learned. He must have gotten the idea from those magazines Numbers collected, where ropes crisscrossed over men’s naked torsos. He was always good with his hands. _But how had Wrench practiced doing this? Did he practice on a pillow? Or… on himself?_ The thought made Numbers swell. Just as his excitement started to build, Wrench handed him a pair of jeans and a shirt.  
\--I need you to pick up a few things at the store.  
Numbers took them in his hands and raised his eyebrows at Wrench.  
\--Aren’t we going to have some fun?  
\--Do as I say and maybe _you’ll_ have some fun. And put on a jacket. It’s cold this morning.  
Numbers dwelled on the rope against his skin. It did not restrict his movement, but he noticed it lightly rub against his skin with every twitch. When he reached his arm out to take bread off the shelf, they rubbed at his shoulders and armpit. It wasn’t painful, but it was like a little whisper in his ear, a little secret that was covered only by a cotton, button up shirt and a coat. He could barely make eye contact with the teenage cashier, for fear that she would somehow know. On the drive home, the rope hugged his ass. And though he was relieved to be home, he sort of liked it, the secrecy of it.  
They’d avoided ropes for several months, almost a year in fact, after transferring to the Fargo syndicate. The excuse they made to each other was that they wanted to concentrate on the new job first, impress their boss and not make any huge screw ups. The real reason they kept to themselves. Sure they’d still had sex. Hell, the following week they’d not let each other go until the sun was up, huddling together in their new apartment like it had no heat. With every twitch in the night, they assumed that the other was reliving a night-terror of the biting ropes. They were relieved each time to discover the pressure on their bodies were the arms of a lover.  
But that was a year ago and they were comfortable again, both in their old selves and their new surroundings. And Numbers was starting to miss the release that the ropes gave him, ropes that were tied by a lover, not an enemy. Wrench would hold his partner’s wrists above his head, but it just wasn’t the same. He was getting frustrated, like he used to when he was a teenager. He felt disappointed in himself for reasons he didn’t know why. He had trouble relaxing and sulked privately, though he put on a different face for his partner.  
It hadn’t fooled Wrench even for a second.  
Now Numbers was standing in their living room, naked save for the red rope around his torso.  
Wrench’s expression was unreadable as he looked him up and down. The ropes rubbed against Numbers’ chest and armpits when he raised his hands to sign.  
\--Now what?  
Wrench didn’t answer. At least not with words. He took hold of the rope near Numbers’ chest and turned, leading him to the bedroom. Numbers had no choice but to follow; he’d seen his partner take people by just the collar and lift them up off the ground, but to be at the mercy of his partner’s strength was staggering.  
Gently, but forcefully, Numbers was made to sit on the bed, where he noticed Wrench had made some changes while he was gone: two ropes loosely tied around the bedposts, towels arranged on the bed, and four leather cuffs on the bedside table. Wrench worked the same way he did on the job; in silence and efficiency. He took his partner’s hands and buckled the leather cuffs around his wrists as though tightening a belt. Witch cuffs secured, Wrench pushed Numbers down to lay on the bed, straddled him and and clipped the metal hooks of the cuffs to the loose ropes around the bed posts. The combined sound of the metallic clipping, the sudden restriction of his arms, and Wrench’s crotch resting just above his stomach made Numbers’ head spin with anticipation.  
Wrench wasn’t done yet. He lifted Numbers’ leg and secured leather cuffs on his ankles. Taking his foot, he bent Numbers’ leg back and forth to loosen it, more and more, until he folded his leg and snapped the clip from the ankle restraint to the red rope on his torso.  
When he was finished, Wrench signed,  
\--Comfortable?  
Numbers took the ropes into his hands and pulled. They allowed for a bit of mobility, but the ropes weren’t going anywhere and the cuffs were snug on his wrists. He could rotate his legs at the hip, but he could not outstretch them. He nodded.  
\--Give me the signal.  
Numbers stuck out his tongue.  
\--Ready?  
Numbers nodded, his eyes wide. Wrench paused for a silent moment, eyeing his partner up and down. The thin, red ropes crisscrossed his partner’s torso, the color standing out against both his pale skin and mass of dark hair. Each of his tattoos were touched by the rope, even the one on his collarbone. His arms were spread, outstretched to their limits, exposing his hairy armpits. Numbers’ chest rhythmically rose and shrunk under the ropes, and the ropes followed his chest with each breath.  
\--You look beautiful.  
Numbers tried to hide his blushing face under one of his arms. _What a romantic fool_ , he thought. How did his partner know how to press all his buttons?  
Suddenly Wrench snapped his fingers. His stare demanded that Numbers keep his eyes on him. The next thing Wrench signed exhibited the duality of his character. He could show great care and compassion, but he could be equally ruthless and cutting.  
\--I’m going to _ruin_ you.  
The intensity in his eyes was without inhibition. Numbers braced himself.  
Wrench went in for his face first, kissing him deeply and dragging his fingers down Numbers’ torso. Numbers tried his best to gyrate his body against Wrench’s looming figure. Numbers begged Wrench to touch lower, go lower with his hands, but Wrench went up to his head instead, deciding to muss up his hair.  
And then Wrench abruptly stopped, stood up, and left his field of vision.  
_Dammit, Wes, get back here!_ Numbers thought, panting. But Wrench returned holding something silvery. Numbers held the ropes tighter when he realized what they were.  
Wrench rolled the clamps around his partner’s nipples, and they puckered with anticipation. _Where did he get these? HOW did he get these?_ Numbers thought of his partner walking into some adult store on the side of the highway and almost laughed, but the pinch of the metallic teeth on his sensitive nipple made him grimace instead. He breathed out through his mouth. Wrench watched for the signal, but Numbers handled it well. Wrench found it odd that his partner enjoyed a heaping dose of pain with his pleasure, but he would do anything to please him.  
Due to his partner’s lack of hearing, Numbers made an effort to convert his noises into something readable on his body. He would knit his brows together and exaggerated expressions of pleasure on his face. When they were close, Wrench could feel the vibrations and deep moans reverberating in his partner’s chest. But Numbers was glad his partner couldn’t hear the full breadth of his noises; if he caught himself focusing on them, he criticized his own sounds and would lose tempo on what was really important.  
Now Numbers gave pleading looks with his eyes. He chewed on his lip and tried to look as delectable as possible. Wrench tugged on the clamps on his nipples. He watched his partner’s expression change from saucy tempter to a shock and then wince. His eyebrows nearly touched when they scrunched down on his forehead and his mouth made an ‘O’ and then a grimace, like a pained smile where he saw a flash of his teeth. Wrench didn’t want Numbers to forget who was in control.  
And that’s what Numbers wanted; he wanted to let go of his control and give the reins away to someone else. The responsibilities in their life would only get heavier as they rose in the ranks of their high stakes job. Even the small things Numbers wanted control over but couldn’t touch-- his migraines, the cold in the winter, whenever a hair was out of place-- he wanted to hand over the control, the responsibilities, to someone else. He could only be free when he was wrapped so tightly in binds that he could barely move. He’d thought on the irony of it, of course. But there were stranger contradictions in this world to dwell on. His anxiety told him that.  
The sound of lubricant being squirted out of its tube instantly brought him back into the present. Wrench slowly stroked the crevice of Numbers’ ass. After removing his own pants, Wrench paused and then looked at his partner.  
\--Do you want this?  
Numbers nodded hungrily.  
\--Say it.  
Once again, Numbers let go of his feelings of self-consciousness, and heard his own voice reverberate in the room.  
“I want you. Wes, I want you so bad.”  
Wrench watched Numbers’ face as he lubricated him and entered. He saw as his hands gripped the ropes so hard that his hands were turning white. But he wanted to see him struggle more. He wanted to drive him wild. Wrench took his partner’s penis in his right hand and started to pump it up and down with each thrust of his own hips. Now Numbers’ chest was rising and falling erratically, his arms pulling at the ropes, his legs pushing against the mattress. He was bucking on the mattress, gyrating his torso upward. His upper body started flailing until he thrashed so much that the bed shook.  
“I need you… I need you! I couldn’t do this without you. I can’t live without you!” Numbers didn’t care how loud he was. Wrench felt the vibrations from his chest. And after he climaxed, after they both climaxed, Numbers deflated and all his muscles relaxed. His breaths were deep now and his chest pushed the ropes to their limits and he tried to fill his lungs to the fullest.  
The most pain came when the metal clamps were released from Numbers’ nipples. The blood rushed back into them and he pulled against the restraints again. But quickly afterwards, large hands rubbed on his pecs in small circles. Wrench was fastidious in all rules, whether it be the on the job or in their bedroom. Numbers closed his eyes to hide in this pleasure for as long as he could. He didn’t open his eyes, even when Wrench was releasing his ankles and wrists from their restraints. The massage continued outwards when the ropes were untied and removed from his body, so the two of them were the only things tangled up in each other. 

 

<><><>  
\--You remember those magazines we used to collect?  
They were a year into their first official positions at the Bismarck syndicate, “celebrating” with whiskey. Well, more accurately, hoping the liquor would convince them that they were making the right life decisions.  
\-- _YOU_ used to collect.  
True, it was mostly Numbers who stashed a growing collection. He and Wrench would sit up in the treehouse they built together and secretly flip through pages of beautiful men wound tight with ropes, staring helplessly at the camera. Numbers would trace the crisscrossing diamonds over men’s naked torsos with his fingers, dreaming of being them or being the man behind the camera, watching his subject writhe is sweet frustration.  
That was a long time ago, but Numbers’ interest never faded.  
He grinned. --I think I still have some.  
He moved through their sparsely furnished Bismarck apartment to the spare bedroom (part of keeping up appearances), and fished out an old shoe box in the closet. Well into the night, the two of them polished off the bottle and shuffled through photographs of shirtless cowboys tied to posts, beefy men in leather straps, or just regular naked men, kneeling, gagged and trussed up.  
\--You know, other men collect Playboys, said Wrench.  
\--Other men are boring.  
Wrench smirked.  
Every man had a magazine collection of pictures to pleasure himself. They bought Playboys as openly as they bought their packs of cigarettes, in the same transaction, even. Of course, there were men who bought Playgirls, and women who bought Playboys; the magazines didn’t judge the eyes browsing them. _And certainly there were people who bought Bound and Gagged like he and Wre--_. Numbers paused. Wrench didn’t seem to have a magazine collection. If anything came close, it was his book collection.  
He decided to test something and held up a clipping from the magazine.  
\--This guy's smokin’. What do you think?  
Wrench shrugged at the photo.  
\--Not into blondes? Ok, how about this guy? Would you do it with him?  
\--Why are you asking if I'd fuck him?  
\--I just want to know your type. How about this guy? He’s got a beard like me.  
\--He’s not as handsome as you.  
\--You’re right. But how about it? No strings attached, in a reality where we didn’t know each other, would you fuck him?  
\--No.  
Numbers was getting frustrated. The whiskey didn't hide it.  
\--Why the fuck not?  
\--Why the fuck does it matter?  
\--Because he looks like me!  
\--So? I'm already fucking you. Isn't that enough?  
\--That's the point!  
\--What is? What are you trying to say? Just say it!  
\--Are you attracted to me or are you fucking me because you're stuck with me?  
Wrench hadn't expected that. His friend had always been doubtful of everything, but how could he have doubt that Wrench loved him? Wrench’s mouth got dry. He wanted to drink, but the bottle was empty.  
Numbers saw Wrench’s whole demeanor change, shoulders sinking.  
“Shit.” he said, then signed --Wes, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-  
Wrench raised his hands, thinking about his words carefully.  
\--When we were kids and everyone was talking about who had a crush on who, I never felt that. I was waiting to feel it, but it never happened. Except, then I started having feelings for you… and only you…  
Numbers watched intently.  
\--The more I try to explain it to myself, the less I understand it... But I know that when I look at you, you drive me fucking wild.  
Numbers grinned. He grasped what his partner was telling him, and even if he himself found other people attractive, he would sooner jump in a lake in January than dare cheat on Wes. But he couldn’t resist teasing; it was in his nature; and he was drunk. --So, you think I’m the sexiest man in the world.  
Wrench rolled his eyes.  
Numbers picked up the photographs and tossed them on the floor one by one.  
\--So this isn’t hot. And this isn’t hot. Not hot. Not hot. Not hot. But THIS-  
He stood up and unbuckled his belt, awkwardly shoving both his pants and underwear down to his knees and lifting his shirt to show the mass of hair on his torso and crotch. --THIS is sexy? Why? Is it because you know me? You know Aussie. I could call Aussie to come over, ask him to pull down his pants. I bet he’d do that.  
Wrench shook his head. His partner was fooling around, but he wanted to be serious.  
\--No, I’m not attracted to Aussie because I don’t love Aussie.  
Numbers was suddenly, well, speechless. The shit-eating grin fell.  
\--Wait are you saying… it’s because you love me?  
Wrench looked at his partner’s naked torso and somewhat joking, yet fully sincere face. _Shit, I really do love this idiot._  
Wrench surrendered to his feelings and nodded genuinely.  
Somewhere in between gloating and being weak in the knees, Numbers was caught up in his lowered pants and started to fall. Wrench caught him and they both toppled to the carpet. They were sloppily making out before they even hit the floor.  
\--You don’t think Aussie’s kind of cute?  
\--He’s very cute, yes.  
\--We should set him up with someone.  
\--You mean find him a _mate?_  
They both laughed so hard, it was almost ecstasy. 

<><><><>  
They could have laid there all afternoon, for all Numbers cared. Wrench was holding his head in his lap, massaging his temples. Numbers thought about how the sensitive, loyal boy he knew in his youth grew into the strong, confident man that stood by his side and took him into his bed. And all he could think about was how he got so damn lucky as to have this moment and all others spent with his partner Wrench.  
Normally he would fight back his tears; he was good at it after years of practice. But he’d just spent an exercise in surrendering to his feelings, so now he allowed his eyes to leak.  
Wrench tapped him on the cheek. --What’s wrong? What hurts?  
Numbers gently shook his own head and reached up to touch his partner's face. Wrench didn’t need words to know an expression of love. His partner’s smile told him that.


End file.
